


Canary and the Cage

by CosmicMog



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, Misffle - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:20:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27792943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmicMog/pseuds/CosmicMog
Summary: The Doctor convinces Clara to pay regular visits to a Time Lady locked away inside a vault for a thousand years.
Relationships: Missy/Clara Oswin Oswald
Comments: 8
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains SPOILERS for Missy’s episodes during series 10, including ‘The Doctor Falls’. In this story, the events during series 9, with Clara’s ‘you know what’ never happened. Clara remains as the Doctor’s companion through series 10. Please do let me know what you think as we go along; and that’s about all you need to know! I hope you enjoy the story and feel free to swoon over the ship with me because they’re underrated and I’m a lonely gay.

It’d been far too long since Clara had heard the familiar sound of the TARDIS materialising in her apartment. So long, that the Doctor had managed to catch her off guard for the first time in a while. She’d been getting ready to relax and watch some movies, wrapped up in a cosy, fluffy onesie, when the sudden whirring echoed throughout the room. 

Slightly disgruntled by the disturbance (she’d been looking forward to watching some Disney classics) and more than a little miffed at being left in the dark, Clara shot up off the couch, preparing to set her tone to scold. When the TARDIS door didn’t open, Clara frowned, the disapproving speech she’d been whipping up in her head fading away.  
  
It wasn’t like him to hesitate. Was the Doctor feeling guilty about disappearing for all this time? Or was it something else? Was he in trouble, maybe? Concern overrode her irritation, and she quickly, carefully pushed open the door.  
  
“Doctor?” Clara called through the quiet, the soft padding of her onesie covered feet barely audible over the hum of engines. Oh, how she’d missed that sound. When her friend didn’t answer, Clara tried again, her hand coming to rest on the railing as she ascended a few steps.  
  
“Doctor, it’s Clara,” a squeal of surprise tore from the woman when he finally stuck his head out from behind a bookshelf, waving a dismissive hand in her direction.  
  
“Yes, yes, welcome back, Clara,” he casually greeted, earning raised eyebrows from his companion.  
  
“Really? That’s really all you’re gonna say?” hands met hips, just as the Doctor turned to glance in her direction. Her posture must have done the trick, as it prompted him to clear his throat, a nervous expression threatening to take form on his face. Somehow his lines looked deeper, his brows further furrowed...and he looked tired. _How long has it been for him?_ Clara wondered.

“What are you wearing?” the Doctor suddenly asked, catching Clara out of her thoughts and causing her eyes to cast a downward glance at herself, as if she’d forgotten.

“Nevermind that!” she hurried to change the subject, “Doctor, it’s been six months.”

“Oh,” he breathed out, staring at Clara. Clara’s eyes widened, as if to prompt him to say something else, something _more_ . “Sorry,” he finished, with an exhausted, slightly sheepish smile.  
  
“It’s okay,” Clara found the words were out before she could change her mind. The look on his face, the way he seemed to carry more weight under his stride, Clara couldn’t find it in her to be mad with him. Not like this. “So, what’s going on?” she pressed, when the Doctor didn’t bother to speak again, his attention focused on one of the moveable screens within the TARDIS.

“Something; something’s _always_ going on, but nothing’s going on with me if that’s what you’re really asking,” he answered, giving away that there was definitely something going on by his suspicious reaction.

“You’re distracted,” Clara pointed out, closing the distance between the TARDIS doors and the main console.  
  
“I’m always distracted,” he argued, “anyway, shouldn’t you be getting dressed?” 

At first Clara considered ignoring his deflection, but the implication behind the Doctor’s question suggested he had plans. After six months without an adventure, Clara was desperate. She’d take anything - goopy monsters, giant robots, malfunctioning Daleks - she’d even rob another bank, if he asked her to.  
  
“Why, where are we going?” Clara asked with a small smile, resting her arms against one of the consoles. 

“Go on, get dressed,” the Doctor urged. Clara’s smile widened, and she turned to rush back down the TARDIS steps, throwing open the door, casting a glance over her shoulder to the Time Lord.  
  
“Two minutes, yeah?” she checked. He nodded, muttering ‘go, go’ under his breath as Clara dashed back into her apartment.

She was longer than two minutes. For starters, she couldn’t decide what to wear; the Doctor hadn’t given her much to go from, or, _anything_ to go from. In the end she went for something casual and a little bit bold. Once she’d finished applying her lipstick, Clara headed back to the TARDIS. The second she walked in, a spring in her step, ready for whatever the Doctor had in store for her this time, he shook his head and waved his hands about as if she’d walked in with her birthday suit on.  
  
“No, no, no,” Clara stared at him as he frowned as if she’d lost her mind, “you can’t go dressed like that!” Motioning to her red dress, leather jacket, knee-high boots, the Doctor sighed, “change into something else, something more…” he struggled to find the word, and Clara let him, to stop herself slapping him for being so rude. “...just more. More clothes.” 

“Dressed like what, and where are we going?” Clara argued, more than a little offended by his attempt to control what she chose to wear. She heard an echo from the past in her brain, the sound of herself yelling ‘I’m not a control freak!’ and the Doctor’s ‘yes ma’am’.

“Like you’re planning to flirt, and it’s a surprise,” he answered in an impassive tone, barely even looking at Clara now his attention was back on the screen.  
  
“ _Planning to_ -” Clara cut herself off, tongue licking over her teeth to stop the indignant response firing out. She turned on her heel, walking down the steps, before pausing to whip back around and face the Doctor again. “Okay, for the record, I’m changing because I want to, not because you asked me to,” she explained. He shrugged a shoulder as if to acknowledge the statement.

“And _if_ I was, not saying that I was, but if I was planning to flirt, it wouldn’t be with you,” _those days are long gone,_ she thought to herself, reminded of her naivety and small crush back when he had a different face. It was never love, not in the way she thought it’d be - it had turned out they worked better as friends. 

Anyway, Clara was over men for a while, she needed a break, or a change...or both.

“Noted,” the Doctor replied, unbothered, before adding, “glad we’ve got that sorted.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Clara muttered, storming off to get changed before she told him to stick his adventure where his head was, if he found any extra room. 

After travelling with the Doctor’s new face for a while now, Clara was used to his sarcastic, dry remarks, and no longer took them to heart. He wasn’t trying to hurt her, he was just...the Doctor, an oblivious, awkward alien trying to do his best in a Universe filled with too many examples of the worst.

Clara managed to keep her cool when he refused to tell her where they were going. She even stayed calm when he found ways to criticise her change of outfit, despite the fact she’d put on a black, fitted jacket, white blouse and tie combo that definitely fit his criteria of ‘more clothes’. What really tested her patience, was when the Doctor finally told her what was going on. And, when he asked her for a favour she never could have expected, Clara’s cool was officially lost.

“No. No way,” Clara adamantly refused, shaking her head, any playfulness between the two evaporating faster than an old puddle on a hot summer’s day.  
  
“Clara,” the Doctor tried to insist, but she shook her head again, expression hardening.  
  
“No, Doctor.” Taking several strides across the TARDIS, Clara turned to level the Time Lord with a fierce look. “Take me home,” she demanded. The seriousness in her eyes made him turn his head in shame. He was ashamed to have to ask again, but ask he did.  
  
“I need you to do this for me,” he tried, softer this time, and Clara could sense that he still hadn’t told her everything. Part of her wanted to shout at him, to ask why he hadn’t told her sooner, why he’d carried the weight of his decision alone, why he hadn’t even thought to tell her that Missy was alive. The other part was too worried by his desperation.  
  
Inhaling a long, steady breath, fighting for composure, “why?” Clara asked. Her tone wasn’t accusatory, but sincerely uncertain, cautiously curious.

“Because I can’t,” he said. It wasn’t enough.

“Yes you can, you _so_ can,” Clara disagreed, lifting a hand to brush her hair off her face, anything to dispel some of the tense energy she could feel building inside. “If you’re really asking me to do this, really, seriously asking, then you tell me why,” Clara gave her ultimatum, meeting the Doctor’s eyes. This time he didn’t bow his head, choosing to look long and hard at the sober face looking back at him.

After a few seconds of that stare, the Doctor gave in.  
  
“When we first met, I was lost. Friendless, horribly sad, and terribly alone,” the Doctor began, walking slowly across the smooth flooring of the spacecraft. “And then a young girl with bright eyes and a brighter heart forced her way into my life. It didn’t matter how hard I tried to resist, her warmth got through the wall of ice I’d built around myself, and for the first time in a long while, I wanted to be the man she thought I could be. A good man, a _kind_ man,” he paused in front of Clara, watching the emotion fill her eyes.

When he sought eye contact, Clara gave a half-smile, a sad smile, looking down, so he couldn’t see how much it meant to hear that.

“You, Clara, you became my first, new friend. You were the friend that saw this face begin, and you are the friend who has remained at my side through it all, through every trial, every hardship. You have my back, and I have yours. We can count on each other, when it matters, to be there, and **stay** there, _friends_ , always.” 

Clara sniffed quietly, lifting her hand to wipe underneath her eyes and catch the few tears that slipped free. The Doctor was kind enough to look away this time, slowly turning his back to walk across the TARDIS.

“Now, imagine never having that, never having a friend. Not once,” he continued, his voice growing harder, accent strengthening. Clara met his gaze, “that’s Missy,” he finished. 

“She is alone and she needs a friend,” he continued when Clara’s glare returned. She shook her head, throwing her hands up in disbelief.

“But _you’re_ her friend! She’s always talking about how you’re friends,” Clara reminded, her tone and movements more animated as she tried to argue her point. The Doctor’s hand rose to rub the side of his head tiredly.

“That’s different,” he said.  
  
“How?” Clara pressed.  
  
“I’m more,” he shot back, and when their eyes met this time, Clara saw the concern in them. It dawned on her then, how much this meant to him. “I’m not just a friend, I’m her enemy. You’re not. She needs _you_ , Clara,” she could feel her face growing warm, the Doctor’s serious expression proving he had meant every word he’d said earlier about their friendship, “it has to be you.”

Clara took a moment to compose herself, trying to slow her breathing as she began to pace across the TARDIS. She kept silent, chewing on her lip as her mind began to race. 

Was she really considering it? Was she really contemplating the idea of meeting with Missy once a week to try and help her on a path of redemption? Clara still didn’t really understand why the Doctor couldn’t do it, but then, he’d never told her much about his past with Missy-, with **the Master,** back then. 

Maybe he couldn’t be open to the idea that she could be better; all that history, all that distrust…and what about Missy? Had the Doctor told her about his arrangement? The last time Clara saw her, the Time Lady had trapped her inside a Dalek’s empty shell and mercilessly teased her, all the while switching her stance every few seconds on whether or not she was going to kill Clara or flirt with her. It had been maddening, terrifying and, admittedly, exhilarating, all at once.  
  
_This adrenaline junkie thing is really going to get me into trouble one of these days..._

“You said she’s in a vault, yeah? What kind of vault?” Clara eventually asked, trying to ignore the tiny sparkle of hope that lit up in the Doctor’s eyes from her question.  
  
“A very large vault, a very locked vault,” he offered, though Clara didn’t seem impressed. “You can take a look if you don’t believe me,” as he gestured to the TARDIS door, Clara’s eyes widened in realisation and he almost flinched from his mistake.  
  
“You already brought us here?” Clara let out a frustrated groan, bringing her hand to pinch the bridge of her nose.  
  
“Well I thought you’d be more open to the idea!” The Doctor attempted to justify, and he must have said something right, because Clara’s hand dropped from her face to stare at him with a strange look. It was a mix of many things, though the most obvious was suspicion and embarrassment. “You seemed to get along well enough last time,” he tried to explain further when she didn’t speak, confused by Clara’s reddening cheeks.  
  
“She tried to kill me!” she reminded, exasperated.  
  
“That’s just how she says she likes you, she tries to kill me all the time,” he added.  
  
“That’s not helping,” Clara pointed out. He gave a single nod in agreement that perhaps it wasn’t.  
  
“Look, I’m sorry,” he sighed, dropping down to sit on one of the steps. Clara watched him, hating how defeated he looked.

“She can’t get out, right? If...if something goes wrong, or,” she couldn’t believe what she was saying. The Doctor looked up at her from the step, surprised eyes wide and hopeful.

“No, no it’s completely safe!” he explained quickly, rushing to his feet. Clara blew out a puff of air, to distract her from the fact she was about to agree to this insane idea. “I’ll be watching from the TARDIS the entire time, I wouldn’t let anything happen to you,” the Doctor motioned to the screen he’d been fiddling with earlier. Clara leaned over to glance at it, blank static staring back at her where the connection was off.

Clara could feel it, the urge to agree, the itch to decline - it was a mess, and she should have been more annoyed at him for putting her in this position. She wasn’t. 

“Please,” was the Doctor’s final attempt to convince her. As Clara looked into his sincere expression, she thought about it one last time. How he was so sure that only she could be the one, that even the Doctor himself couldn’t do what he was asking her to. 

_To see the friend inside the enemy..._

“Okay, fine! But the _second_ she tries anything, I’m out of there,” Clara gave in. 

“Yes, I understand!” the Doctor excitedly acknowledged, reaching to take Clara’s hands in his. She let the momentum turn her to face him, unable to stop a small smile from the overwhelming relief on his face. “Thank you, Clara,” he said.

“Don’t thank me yet, I haven’t done anything,” she muttered under her breath, gently freeing her hands from his grip. The Doctor shook his head in disagreement, with a warm smile.

“Oh, but you have,” he reached to hurry down the steps, grabbing the door to the TARDIS, throwing it open, motioning for her to follow. “Come on, she’s expecting us, sort of,” he corrected himself, already through the door.  
  
“Sort of?” Clara echoed, brief panic across her face. “Doctor, what do you mean, sort of?” she hurried after him, closing the door behind her as she caught up to where he was, standing in the middle of a large, open space. In front of them was the vault, dark and foreboding, strange patterns carved into the huge, sealed doors.  
  
“Very large, very locked,” Clara commented quietly. The Doctor chuckled, moving forward to mess with some buttons on the door panel. Clara felt her heart speed up, the sudden realisation that Missy was behind those doors hitting her in full force.

 _I’m nervous...why am I nervous? This is crazy,_ Clara thought to herself, shaking her head with a smile of disbelief that they were even here. Not one hour ago, the Doctor had just turned up on her metaphorical doorstep, unannounced, like he always did, and now, here she was, about to sit down for a chat with his oldest enemy, who also happened to be slightly, unfairly, very attractive underneath all of her deranged demeanour.

“Missy, it’s me, sorry I’m late,” the Doctor spoke through the door after he’d fiddled with some of the controls. Clara waited, holding her breath.  
  
“You’re always late,” came a Scottish drawl from the other side. Clara couldn’t help but snort, lifting her hand to cover it when the Doctor gave her a look.  
  
“I am not,” he defended himself, first to the panel, then, “really, I’m not,” to a disbelieving Clara, who simply shrugged and raised her hands to surrender.  
  
“Who’s that, who are you talking to?” Missy asked curiously. “Oh, Doctor, have you brought me a present?” the drop in her voice sent heat straight to the back of Clara’s neck. She remembered that tone all too well…thankful, at least, that she couldn’t see the wolfish grin on the woman’s lips - for the moment, anyway.

“Yes,” the Doctor answered.  
  
“Doctor!” Clara gasped, her face flushing as she reached to slap him on the arm.  
  
“Ouch, I mean, not a present, a surprise,” he hurried to correct himself, but Missy wasn’t listening.  
  
“Is that Clara Oswald? _My_ Clara?” Missy sounded pleased. 

Clara was already regretting her decision.

Once the doors were open, the Doctor walked inside the vault, fishing a small book out of his pocket, placing it on a large desk in the corner. Clara entered much more slowly, taking tentative steps, looking around the inside of the vault curiously.

It was much larger than she’d expected, but given the size of the vault itself, it shouldn’t have been. What was more of a surprise, was the contents of the open room. Random pieces of old, shabby furniture were scattered around the area, a bookshelf that looked far too empty, a bed, far too worn, and a couple of chairs, far too dusty. In the center was a beautiful, antique, grand piano, elevated on a small platform, as if it were a stage.

Clara’s eyes finally found the imprisoned Time Lady, where she sat on the duet bench, laced, leather boots crossed, just like her legs. Clara’s eyes travelled higher, taking in the familiar Edwardian inspired garb the woman was wearing, proudly. When Clara finally reached Missy’s face, she was grinning, teeth bared, amused by the human’s staring.  
  
“Take a picture honey, it’ll last longer,” she teased in a fake american accent, barely acknowledging the doctor’s presence. Clara tried not to smile from the infuriating alien, tugging her mouth to the side to stop it forming, clearing her throat softly instead.

“Hi, Missy,” she greeted in return, lifting her hand in an awkward wave. Missy’s eyes flashed with something Clara couldn’t place, but it made her shift her weight from one foot to the other. 

“Hi, Missy,” she mimicked in a higher, sweet voice, shifting to stand up. Clara felt her heart stop, but she wasn’t afraid. No, it was something...different. She didn’t know what to say, a wave of embarrassment rushing through her from Missy’s mocking impression.  
  
“Ignore her, Clara, she’s doing it on purpose,” the Doctor casually said from behind her, where he was double checking the room had sealed safely.

“Oh, am I?” Missy’s eyebrows rose as she finally looked over to the Doctor. “Spoil the fun why don’t you,” she pulled a face at him while his back was turned. Clara had to continue the fight to resist a smile. If Missy saw her relentless teasing was working, she’d only do it more. So, despite how difficult it was, Clara willed her expression to remain pleasant yet neutral.

“It’s true, you’re never like this with me. Showing off for your visitor, Missy?” Missy’s confidence fizzled a little at the Doctor’s observation. She let out a ‘huh’ of amusement before waving a hand to dismiss him, though she made no attempt to deny it.

Clara knew it was stupid to feel flattered, that Missy would have been like this no matter who her visitor was, it was just the fact she was ‘new’ that excited her.

“Clara, Clara, it _has_ been a while, hasn't it?” Missy’s voice caught her out of her thoughts, and drew her attention. Clara met her eyes, and she was amazed how she’d almost forgotten just how striking they were. She swallowed, opening her mouth to answer, when nothing came out. Missy looked thrilled, a gleeful smile returning. 

“Did you miss me?” she asked, her voice a whisper, head rearing to look down at Clara. Clara’s breath got lodged in her throat, and she suddenly remembered the quiet, inappropriate thoughts she’d once had while pressed against the wall of a dalek sewer.

She turned her face away to look over to the Doctor for help, annoyed at herself for becoming so flustered so easily. It had been so long, Missy was right...and Clara hadn’t had time to entertain the prospect of seeing her again. With no time to prepare herself, to warn herself in advance, that Missy was clever and quick and didn’t miss a beat, that she was strangely sexy in her arrogance and infuriating in it too, that she could give Clara a single look, and it felt as if she was being devoured.  
  
“Missy, that’s enough,” he warned, crossing the room to stand next to Clara, who finally remembered to breathe and shut her mind up once he was at her side.  
  
“Gosh, there’s no need to be so defensive, I was talking to Clara actually, not you,” she pointed out in a matter-of-fact way.  
  
“Clara doesn’t have to answer your questions. She’s here because I asked her to be, not because she wanted to be,” the Doctor revealed, his tone hard. Missy’s smile darkened and for the first time since they’d arrived, she said nothing. 

When the Doctor glanced at Clara, she finally found her voice again.

“Uh, yes,” she said quickly. Missy looked interested, and both she and Clara suddenly wondered what exactly she meant by that. Clara, realising how Missy might interpret it as an answer to her question, hurried to add, “what he said,” she pointed at the Doctor, giving a polite smile. Missy seemed to ease up on the teasing, almost as if the truth of his words had deflated some of her need to show off.  
  
“That’s all very nice, but why have you brought her here?” she asked as if Clara was no longer in the room, any sign of her bravado from before vanishing, her attention on the Doctor.  
  
“I thought you could do with the company,” unable to stand still for too long, the Doctor started to pace around the vault, looking at the base of the elevated floor where Missy, and the piano, were situated. Clara frowned, wondering what he was looking at, when she heard Missy scoff in disbelief.  
  
“It’s never that simple with you,” she reminded him.  
  
“She has a point,” Clara voiced what she was thinking before she could stop it slipping out. Missy glanced at her, a brief smile flickered across her face.  
  
“Thank you,” she said, before her attention returned to the Doctor, “you see, Clara agrees with me.”

“Great, you’re getting on well already then,” he said dismissively, ignoring Missy when she let out an annoyed sigh. The Doctor strode over to return to Clara’s side. “I need to fetch something, will you be alright?” he asked. 

Clara wanted to say ‘no’, to ask him to stay, but Missy was unusually quiet, suddenly fascinated with their exchange, and in Clara’s stubbornness not to seem pathetic, came a casual “yeah, course,” and a complying nod.

“Good, I’ll be ten minutes,” he smiled as if she’d passed some sort of test, then glanced at Missy. “ _Ten minutes,_ ” he repeated in a warning tone, and somehow Clara felt as if the ten minutes was going to be Missy’s test.

“Yes, yes,” she rolled her eyes, turning to sit back down on the duet bench.  
  
“Remember what I told you on the TARDIS,” the Doctor said to Clara quietly. She nodded, thinking back to his comment about the view screen. She wouldn’t be alone, the Doctor would be watching, and he’d only be ten minutes. She could see from the worried look hidden in his eyes that this _was_ a test, to see if Missy would respond well to her presence. It felt a bit like being thrown in the deep end, but when had that ever stopped Clara before?

“Yeah, thanks,” she smiled and gave him a reassuring nod, “go on then.”

At Clara’s encouragement, the Doctor turned to unlock the vault, and after a minute longer he was gone, the echoes of the doors shutting behind him filling the expanse of the room.

“You’ve got him whipped, you know,” Missy casually observed, running her hands lovingly over the piano keys without pressing them.

“No I haven’t,” Clara denied, catching the noise of disbelief that left Missy.  
  
“Whatever you say,” she answered in a sing-song voice, her fingertips dancing feather-light over the ivory keys. Clara bit back an annoyed protest, instead frowning with fascination at Missy’s fingers ghosting over the piano.  
  
“What are you doing?” she asked, beginning to slowly circle outside the mini-stage to get a better look. Missy tilted her head to look at her with an unimpressed face.  
  
“What do you think? I’m playing the piano,” she said, as if it were so ridiculously obvious Clara was a fool for asking.  
  
“No you’re not,” Clara gestured to the piano. “There’s no sound.”

“Yes there is,” Missy replied, her fingers continuing to caress the keys.  
  
“I can’t hear anything,” Clara argued, straining to listen for any note of music.  
  
“That’d be the forcefield,” Missy nonchalantly said after a moment. Clara stood still, staring at Missy, who cast her a glance between playing, smiling at her with a steadiness Clara had never seen from her before.

“Right, forcefield, course there is,” she mumbled under her breath, trying to gather her patience. “So why can I hear you, and not the music?” Clara pressed further. Missy’s smile widened; she’d always enjoyed being one step ahead, knowing something then revealing it only when she pleased.  
  
“Because,” she started to explain, her fingers slowing to a halt, finishing whatever soundless tune she’d been playing, “the Doctor controls the forcefield. If he wants me to be heard, I’m heard, if he doesn’t, I’m not.”

Clara wasn't sure what to say to that. She could understand, if Missy was being cruel or, _something_ , why the Doctor might want to just increase the forcefield’s power but…

“And you’re alright with that?” The question was out and Clara wished she’d engage her brain before her mouth, today. 

Missy chuckled, but it was hollow and held no warmth. “I’m going to be locked inside this vault for several hundred years. It has nothing to do with what I’m ‘alright’ with.” A silence fell between the two women, Missy’s smile fading into a frown as she started to play another song. 

Clara watched the press of each key, the muted elegance of Missy’s fingers, until she spoke up again, prompting Missy to sigh with irritation and halt her playing, turning her head to glare at Clara for interrupting her apparent flow.  
  
“Have you tried asking?” she suggested. Missy stared at her as if she’d grown a second head. It was Clara’s turn to smile, and Missy wished she’d stop looking so frustratingly pretty. “The Doctor. Have you tried asking him to lower the forcefield?”

“No, I haven’t tried asking,” she answered with a flare of irritation to her tone. Clara’s smile widened and she gave a casual shrug.  
  
“Maybe you should,” she said, before turning to stroll across the room and admire the neglectfully bare bookshelf in the corner. She purposely feigned a sudden interest in the gathering specs of dust covering the old oak wood shelves. 

Missy silently mouthed ‘maybe you should’ childishly behind Clara’s back, before rising to stand from the piano bench. Clara was quiet, counting the seconds in her head to see if Missy’s curiosity would win over her stubbornness. _Ten, eleven, twelve,_ Clara counted, listening to the sound of Missy’s heeled boots clacking along the stage where she must have been pacing back and forth like a caged lion.

“Doctor, lower the forcefield,” Missy suddenly announced to the vault, loudly. Clara smiled to herself, closing her eyes.

“What’s the magic word?” came the Doctor’s static voice from behind the vault’s doors.

“ _Now_ ,” she demanded. Clara had to fold her lips into a line to stifle a giggle.  
  
“Not quite, try again,” he encouraged, and Missy huffed, scowling. Clara couldn’t resist turning to face where Missy was standing to see the look on her face - and she wasn’t disappointed. Missy made eye contact and Clara waited.  
  
“Please,” she eventually said through grit teeth.

“Ding, ding, ding, and we have a winner! Very good,” the Doctor praised sarcastically. 

A bright shimmer suddenly appeared, revealing the invisible forcefield to Clara, where it had Missy restricted to the stage. Clara, fascinated, took several steps closer to the field, her eyes darting excitedly from the fading light to Missy’s hand, where she’d lifted it to touch the forcefield. It sent a ripple across the field, but it didn’t allow her to pass through.  
  
“It’s still there,” she pointed out stiffly.  
  
“Of course it is, do you really think I’d lower it completely while Clara’s alone in the room with you?” the Doctor said from the door panel. Missy made a face as if she was disappointed, a fake, drawn out ‘aw’ slipping from her pouting, painted lips. “Anyway, you passed the test,” he finished, the vault doors starting to loudly open.

“What test?” Missy frowned as the Doctor entered the vault.  
  
“I had to see if you’d be able to hold a conversation with Clara that didn’t involve relentless teasing or death threats,” the Doctor explained, glancing at Clara who ducked her head to tuck some of her hair behind her ear and avoid his eyes.

“We’ve held a conversation before, Doctor, just ask Clara. I told her all about the Daleks last time we met, it wasn’t all ‘relentless teasing’, now was it, dear?” Missy turned to Clara with a knowing grin, recalling the shared ‘I love you’ between them, thanks to the very teasing she was trying to downplay.

“I think there were a few death threats in there too, yeah,” Clara confirmed. Missy smirked from the human’s witty response, turning back to the Doctor.

“What happens now?” she asked him. He stared at her for a long moment, and Clara suddenly wanted to look anywhere but at the two of them.

“Now we’re leaving,” he finally answered, turning to Clara, jerking his head towards the door. She opened her mouth to say something, but his eyes flashed as if to tell her to come along. She looked at Missy briefly, noticing she wore a similar expression to herself, before hurrying after the Doctor’s long strides towards the door.  
  
“And that’s it, is it?” Missy called to them just before they reached the exit. Clara could see the Doctor smile to himself, but by the time he turned around to face Missy, it was hidden behind a practiced seriousness.  
  
“Yeah, that’s it,” he paused for effect and Clara might have felt a little bad for Missy, if it wasn’t for the fact that she was...well, _Missy_. “Maybe you can play Clara a little tune on that piano of yours, next time. She should be able to hear it now,” he suggested with a shrug before motioning for Clara to follow him as he exited the vault. Clara did, and just as the doors were sealing behind them, she cast a final glance over her shoulder to where Missy stood, her hand still raised against the forcefield.

“Next time,” Missy murmured to herself, left with plenty to contemplate thanks to the Doctor’s surprise visitor and whatever it was he had planned. Her hand slowly drifted away from the forcefield to trace along the smooth, black surface of the piano, a ghost of a distant smile etched across Missy’s face.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been almost a week since the Doctor had sprung his ‘arrangement’ upon her; almost a week since she’d visited the vault and its familiar prisoner. Clara had made several unsuccessful attempts to understand the real reason why he’d asked, and more importantly, the real reason why she’d accepted. In the end, after mulling over both questions for far too long with little progress, Clara had given up deciding on the reason and instead focused on how she was going to actually follow through with it. 

Clara had thought about what she might talk to Missy about next time, and if the Doctor would be giving her a debrief before every meeting about what he wanted her to do or say, or if he was going to leave her to handle it alone. As usual, Clara had no clue what was going to happen, so,  _ as usual _ , she got to work improvising, coming up with her own ideas and action plan.

Real life hadn’t slowed down for her either; she still had to work hard at her job as an English teacher, pay her rent, go food shopping, all the boring ‘normal’ stuff people who weren’t the doctor’s friends had to do. Luckily, Clara had always been pretty good at juggling a lot of things at once - and she’d discovered it came in handy for both of her ‘lives’.

So, when it came time to pay Missy another visit, Clara should have felt prepared. Two hours before the Doctor had called to say he was on his way, she felt over-prepared; an hour before, she felt under-prepared. When she only had fifteen minutes to go, Clara was nervous.

She paced back and forth in her apartment living room, tapping her fingers against her folded arms. At the time, it had felt terrible, having the idea sprung upon her...but the seven days she’d had to think about it over and over again had built it up in her head into a much uglier monster.  _ It’s only Missy; you can handle her, you’ve done it before,  _ Clara reminded herself, exhaling a steadying breath.

When the TARDIS arrived and the Doctor opened the door heartily like the first gust of a brewing whirlwind, Clara pushed aside her worries and hurried after him.   
  
“You look nice,” the Doctor commented after a brief glance in Clara’s direction, dashing about the consoles of the time machine to set their destination. Clara looked down at herself before smiling.   
  
“Not too much?” she double-checked, before frowning as something dawned on her. “Hang on, why  _ did _ you ask me to change last time?”

“What?” the Doctor feigned temporary loss of hearing.   
  
“Last time, you made me change my outfit, you said I looked like I was planning to flirt, remember? But you knew where we were going the whole time,” Clara pressed the subject, amused when the Doctor cleared his throat loudly.   
  
“Yes, well, it wasn’t  _ you _ flirting that I was worried about,” he muttered under his breath, pulling the lever that initiated their journey. Clara’s eyes grew wide and she stared, dumbfounded.   
  
“Don’t look at me like that, with your big eyes,” the Doctor complained, drawing a hand to press against his face. “The Master, he used to like- well, he was a bit of a-, maybe she wouldn’t, but it was safer to-” he struggled awkwardly until Clara couldn’t hide a smile from his sudden difficulty to explain things; it helped to distract from the burning heat on her face.   
  
_ Oh, Doctor, if only you knew the way she’d acted around me when you weren’t there,  _ Clara thought to herself. “How about you pretend I never asked and I’ll pretend you never answered, sound good?” she finally suggested, to save them both from embarrassment.   
  
“Yes, sounds perfect,” the Doctor agreed with a relieved sigh.

When they arrived outside the vault, Clara waited patiently as he got to work messing with the buttons like last time, unlocking the doors.   
  
“Morning, Missy,” he called into the room, motioning for Clara to wait a moment longer. She paused before she could step inside, tilting her head to watch him enter the vault and head towards wherever the Time Lady was, leaving the doors open.   
  
“Is it?” came a disinterested voice from the far end of the room. Clara craned her neck to try and see, but she couldn’t tell where Missy was. “Morning,” the woman went on to clarify, turning to watch the Doctor approach where she was sitting on the floor.

“It was last time I checked,” the Doctor shrugged, stopping just beside her. “Why are you sitting on the floor?” he asked with a confused frown, thinking about the chairs he’d brought in for her after she’d asked.   
  
“I was tired so I sat down,” she answered with a frown of her own. “Oh, sorry, am I not doing it right? Is this not how ‘good’ people sit? Should I just move to a chair then, like a proper person?” Missy bitterly asked, her tone laced with sarcasm. 

The Doctor scowled at her, and from where she was watching the exchange at the doors, Clara began to understand why he’d needed help. The two bickered like siblings, it might have been sweet under other circumstances but there was something about his approach that seemed to bristle Missy in a bad way. Suddenly Clara had visions of his attempts to try and get her to talk, get her to make progress when they clashed like this.    
  
“That’s not what I meant, you don’t have to get all offended,” the Doctor argued in a stern voice. 

“Then what, pray tell,  _ did _ you mean?” Missy shot back, challenging him. He stared at her, the two glaring, unblinking like weeping angels before Clara decided she’d had enough.   
  
“Will you two give it a rest?” she said, walking into the vault, turning to press the button she’d seen the Doctor use to open the doors, prompting them to slide shut behind her. Surprised by the familiar voice of Clara Oswald, Missy startled, clambering to her feet, dusting off her long skirt and checking her hair with a quick hand to the back of her bun.   
  
“Clara, I told you to wait outside,” the Doctor warned under his breath, aiming his serious expression in her direction.   
  
“And that’s exactly what I did, until the pair of you started arguing like children,” Clara pointed out, crossing her arms, unimpressed.

“It’s not safe, Missy isn’t-” the Doctor pointed towards where the Time Lady was free from the forcefield.   
  
“-going to hurt her,” an accented voice interrupted. “I’m not stupid, Doctor, don’t you think murdering your precious puppy would be rather counterproductive? It’d render this little experiment of yours entirely pointless. I’m not locked inside here for the fun of it,” Missy rolled her eyes; “really, try to keep up.”

The Doctor appeared doubtful at first, looking from Missy to Clara and back again.

“She has had plenty of chances to try and kill me,” Clara added when the Doctor looked to her again for some input. She didn’t comment on the return of the ‘puppy’ nickname. Missy lifted her hand to flourish it towards Clara with a pleased nod.   
  
“Ah, there we go, see?” she tapped the Doctor’s shoulder reassuringly.   
  
“And she only used, I’d say, maybe fifty per cent of them?” Clara continued casually, trying not to grin from the look on both of their faces. The Time Lady gave an offended gasp from the notion, lifting a hand to press against her hearts.   
  
“ _ Twenty-five! _ ” she argued. 

Clara raised her eyebrows, “forty.”   
  
“Thirty, final offer,” Missy fired back.   


“Deal,” Clara accepted, folding her arms with a pleased smile. The Doctor stared at the two, trying to figure out what just happened.   
  
“Was that  _ banter? _ Are you two bantering already?” he asked, nose wrinkling in confusion. Clara resisted the urge to laugh, avoiding making eye contact with Missy in case she looked just as pleased with herself as Clara knew she did.

“Go on, bugger off then. You promised you would,” Missy pleaded with a childish pout, sticking her lower lip out to persuade the Doctor. Clara’s smile faltered into a frown of interest, wondering what it was he’d actually said to Missy about their arrangement.

“I said I would if you behaved,” he reminded, earning a scoff and eye roll combination from Missy, who strode away from him across the room, throwing her arms in the air dramatically.   
  
“I  _ am _ behaving!” she gestured to herself. 

Making a decision, Clara took the Doctor’s arm, pulling his attention back to her.   
  
“Doctor, it’ll be fine,” she tried to reassure, but he still didn’t seem convinced. His eyes narrowed, watching the way Missy’s face split into a grin. “You asked me to do this, so let me,” Clara urged. He met her eyes and she saw the concern written in the lines.

“One wrong move, just one,” he started to say, his voice deadly, head turning to catch Missy’s gaze. Her smile widened. “I mean it, Missy, if you do anything to hurt her-”    
  
“This is getting quite boring now. I’ve given you my word, what’s the point of asking for it if you’re not going to acknowledge it?” Missy’s hands landed on her hips, and Clara found herself silently agreeing.    
  
“Alright,” the Doctor gave in with a tired sigh. “I’ll be in the TARDIS if you need me. When you’re ready to go, just say, I’ll be able to see and hear you the entire time,” he reminded Clara with a comforting squeeze of her hand. She nodded, watching him head for the doors. 

When he turned for a final look across the vault, Missy wiggled her fingers at him in a wave. He huffed under his breath, before storming off, the doors re-sealing behind him.

Missy groaned with relief the second he was gone, seeming to forget or ignore what he’d just said. “Finally, I thought he’d linger for  _ hours _ ; like an awkward comment,” she paused, “or a fart.”

Clara couldn’t stop a slight smile from the comparison, lifting her hand to rub over her mouth and cover the amused expression. Missy didn’t miss it though, looking far too pleased with herself that she managed to get a smile from the puppy.

“He’s just looking out for me,” Clara eventually tried to defend the Doctor’s honour. Missy’s arrogant grin gradually dropped, and something shifted in the light of her eyes. Clara felt her stomach plummet from the sudden change in expression.

She’d never seen Missy look like that before.   
  
“Must be nice,” Missy murmured under her breath, beginning to cross the room slowly, headed for one of two moth-eaten armchairs. Clara couldn’t take her eyes off her, her heart tightening uncomfortably from the strange atmosphere that came with Missy’s dip in energy.

After their last, test visit, the Doctor had told Clara a little bit more about what Missy was going through. It still hadn’t answered all of her questions, but it was enough for Clara to understand what she could expect from the Time Lady during their meetings. But hearing it from the Doctor, and witnessing it firsthand, were two very different things.

All Clara had ever known Missy to be was the unhinged, vibrant storm of snark, jumping from jokes to threats, from compliments to curses, untrustworthy to the core and seeping with a deadly,  _ intoxicating _ venom if you got just a little bit too close - and she made you want to. 

The Doctor had said she was changing, that it’d be subtle, at times, and not so subtle, during others. Watching Missy sink into the armchair, all trace of her bright, chaotic spirit dwindling like the dying embers of a fire, Clara felt something within herself change too. 

“It’s not riddled with traps, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Missy eventually broke Clara from her thoughts as she spoke through the heavy silence. 

Clara blinked a few times to focus, “what?” Missy motioned towards the empty armchair positioned a reasonable distance away from the one she was occupying. “Oh, right,” Clara gave an apologetic smile, hurrying to close the distance in the room and sit down in the empty chair.

It was awkward at first, the two of them sitting in chairs - it felt too...normal. Missy seemed to be thinking the same thing, wriggling in the chair trying to get comfortable with little success.

“So, um,” Clara attempted to start a conversation, but when Missy looked over and met her gaze, the words decided to perform a vanishing act from the sheer sight of those fierce, ice blue eyes. Missy, to her credit, waited, with an impassive expression, without ripping into Clara for the hesitation.

“What did the Doctor say? About- about...” Clara tried again, relieved when Missy interrupted.   
  
“About your visits?” she finished for her. Clara nodded. “Well, not too much, you know how he is,” she shrugged casually. “I seem to remember him saying something along the lines of ‘ _ Clara will be good for you _ ’,” Missy continued, emphasizing her Scottish accent when she echoed the Doctor’s words. 

She missed the way Clara’s face grew warm when she looked up at the vault’s ceiling. “Didn’t you Doctor?” Missy called out to him, but there was no answer. She shrugged again with an empty smile in the human’s direction.

“Did he say anything else?” Clara asked, hopefully. Missy stared at her for a long moment, and Clara felt unnerved, finding she couldn’t hold eye contact for very long.    
  
“He hasn’t told you much then, has he,” Missy concluded, and Clara almost forgot how sharp she was underneath the disarming normality of their conversation.

“He told me enough,” she responded, leaning back in the chair, hearing it groan with protest.

“I see. So the two of you have been chit-chatting about my fate, have you? Come up with any brilliant ideas to turn me into a good girl yet?” Missy’s eyes darkened, and for the first time since Clara had entered the vault, she felt genuinely unsettled. She was reminded of Skaro, the way Missy would lure her into a false sense of security and then push her off the edge -  _ literally _ .

“No, Missy, it wasn’t like that,” Clara argued with a shake of her head.   
  
“Good, because it’s bad enough with him swanning about in here holding a promise over my head like some sort of cosmic guillotine,” she spat with irritation. “I can’t handle your suffocating moral high ground on top of that.” 

Clara swallowed dryly, trying to ignore the way her heart started to race with adrenaline from the instinct to run. She stood her ground, fingers tightening against the armrest of the chair, expression hard but calm.  _ I can do this,  _ Clara reminded herself.   
  
“You’re not the only one who made a promise to the Doctor,” Clara eventually spoke after she’d given Missy a moment to breathe. The Time Lady’s head rose to lock onto Clara’s face, to read her expressions, look for any sign of deceit. 

“I did too. I promised to help him save his oldest friend in the Universe. Not because it’s the right thing to do, or because he wants to change you, or make you act the way he thinks you should,” Clara paused, willing herself to hold their eye contact, to show she was sincere, “I promised to help him because it was kind; and because you were alone.” 

Missy’s mask of anger seemed to slip away in place of surprise. Her eyebrows rose, arching in what could have been pain or disbelief.    
  
“Nobody deserves to be alone,” Clara finished, her voice unwavering in its conviction. Missy watched her for a while, trying to process what she’d revealed, until she couldn’t bear to see the empathy in Clara’s eyes, tearing her own away to stare at the floor.

Missy stood from her chair, striding across the room, away from Clara, without saying a word. Clara wasn’t sure if she’d made things worse, her heartbeat thundering in her throat as she hurried to stand, hesitating before following her.   
  
“Missy?” she carefully tried. The Time Lady muttered something under her breath but Clara couldn’t catch what it was. She took a few careful steps towards her, arm outstretched to show her approach. Missy glanced at her, before backing away.   
  
“Go away,” Missy repeated softly, but her tone held no warmth; it was a warning.

“Clara, keep your distance,” the Doctor’s voice came from over the communication channel. Missy scoffed out a laugh, but Clara saw a sparkle catch the dim light of the vault that looked like...but it couldn’t have been, could it? “Don’t do anything to provoke her,” the Doctor spoke again over the channel, hurrying to get inside the vault.

Clara’s instinct to comfort moved her legs before her head could catch up.

“I said,  _ go away _ ,” Missy hissed, her own hand lifting to try to halt Clara’s approach. Clara felt her heart stop when she caught sight of the woman’s face - there was no doubt now, that what she’d seen in Missy’s eyes were the shimmer of unshed tears.   
  
“It’s okay,” Clara’s reassuring voice sounded strange even to her own ears, too soft, too shaky. She could hear doors beginning to open behind her, but she didn’t care. All she could think about, all she could  _ feel _ , was the look on Missy’s face. An emotion she never thought she’d see, an emotion she couldn’t bring herself to look away from.

She reminded Clara of a majestic creature, like a panther, frightened and threatened by a human, backed into a corner with nowhere left to hide. How could a panther trust a human? Why did it hurt Clara so much to consider that Missy was capable of feeling fear? And why had it never crossed her mind before? 

“Missy, back off!” The Doctor warned as the doors opened, but he only made it worse. Clara, frozen on the spot, watched the vulnerability in Missy’s eyes change, darken, harden. Clara saw the panther make its stand, to trust the human, or to defend itself from it.

“No, Doctor, wait-” Clara tried to get him to stay where he was, afraid his presence would trigger Missy’s fight or flight. She turned to face him for a brief second, but it was a mistake. The second her back was turned, Missy lunged for her.   
  
_ Never turn your back on a predator, especially not one that’s confused and afraid… _ Clara heard herself think, a moment too late. She felt a tight arm wrap around her neck, closing around her windpipe, enough to keep her quiet, but not enough to choke her. Clara let out a weak noise of shock, her hands coming up to grab onto Missy’s sleeve.   
  
“Let her go,” the Doctor demanded, voice deadly as he approached. Clara tried to will her eyes to tell him to stop, that his distrust was making it worse, but he was staring so fiercely at Missy he didn’t notice.

Missy didn’t speak, her eyes wild, a storm of emotions she couldn’t handle sending her reeling. She felt a gentle tug of her sleeve, and it grounded her, if only for a moment. It was Clara...even now, caught in the claws of the beast, she didn’t give up on hope. It was so naive, it was so  _ human _ , but it hit a nerve inside Missy’s chest that stopped her spiralling further out of control.

“Missy, let Clara go,” the Doctor tried again slowly, watching the emotions as they hurtled across the Time Lady’s face - anger, fear, agony,  _ shame _ . He could see she was in two minds, both fighting for control. 

After a moment that lasted a lifetime, Clara felt the grip of her neck loosen enough that she could breathe deeply. Her instincts kicked in and she let go of Missy’s arm, rushing forwards out of her grasp. Before the Doctor could try to reach for her, Clara stopped, and turned back to face Missy.

The shame was written for Clara to see, and she refused to look at either of them, instead slowly backing away until she was pressed against the wall of the vault.   
  
“Go back to the TARDIS,” the Doctor ordered, never once taking his eyes off Missy.   
  
“Doctor, please, it’s not her fault,” Clara said, shocked to find herself tearing up.   
  
“Just go, Clara,” he repeated, his tone calm despite the cold fury underneath.

Clara cast one last look towards Missy, her hand rising to rub her neck where the Time Lady’s arm had been, before she left through the doors, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. She made it to the TARDIS swiftly, pushing open the door, her heart still racing in her chest as she tried to understand what just happened.

Closing the door behind her, Clara saw where the Doctor had been sitting, a book half-open on one console, the active screen showing the vault hanging over the other. She quickly approached the screen, grabbing its handles to turn it towards herself so she could see what was happening.

Missy was still pressed against the wall, and the Doctor hadn’t moved any closer.   
  
“This arrangement is over,” the Doctor said, loud enough for Missy to hear him. She didn’t even look up, didn’t acknowledge him or the statement. “Did you hear me?” He asked, his voice harder, angrier.

Clara held her breath, chewing her lip between her teeth as she stared at the screen, unable to look away from Missy’s sorry figure, slowly hunching over as if she were in pain.   
  
“She’s just confused,” Clara whispered as it all began to dawn on her. 

If Missy really was like a caged animal, it made sense that any sign of kindness would be met with hostility. She didn’t know anything else, any other way to react. Being locked away inside a cage for years, visited by two people who held the key to her liberation, her salvation - of course Missy was going to react badly. 

It wasn’t just new and difficult for Clara, or for the Doctor...it was just as hard for her.

“Missy, did you hear what I said? Do you understand me? This arrangement is over; you will never see Clara again,” The Doctor reiterated, adamant that he would get some kind of response out of her before leaving. The silence was heart-wrenching, until finally, she spoke.

“I understand,” Missy answered. She sounded tired, and there was no resistance, no attitude or argument, just comprehension.

Clara saw the Doctor turn on his heel, indicating he was on his way back. She pushed the screen away to where it had been before she entered, then quickly crossed the TARDIS to sit away from it. When the door eventually opened, the Doctor looked almost as ashamed as Missy had.   
  
“I’m sorry,” he started, “I should never have asked you to do this.”

“Doctor, it’s fine,” Clara hurried to answer. She could see his guilt, could tell he felt responsible for what Missy had done, after they’d convinced him to leave.   
  
“It’s not fine,” he argued, striding across the TARDIS to put some distance between himself and Clara; “she would have killed you.”

“No, she wouldn’t,” Clara said, watching the uncertainty cross the Doctor’s face, quietening him. “I won’t lie, that was...that was bad. And yeah, I was scared, for a second, but it’s not that simple,” she explained. The Doctor said nothing, giving Clara a chance to elaborate further. 

“We both know this isn’t going to be easy. You know it, I know it, Missy knows it. But you still asked me, I still accepted, and she still stays inside that prison by choice. She could break out of there if she really wanted to, Doctor, you know she could,” Clara continued. 

“I moved too fast and I pushed too soon. It doesn’t make what she did okay, of course it doesn’t, but now I know to be more careful about emotions, at least to start with. But if we give up on her, if we let one mistake ruin her future, we throw away any chance of redemption she has.”

The Doctor sighed deeply - Clara was right, she nearly always was.

“But she scared you,” he feebly attempted to argue back.   
  
“You’ve scared me before. I forgave you, didn’t I?” Clara managed a smile, hoping to lighten the tension. The Doctor took a moment, but eventually he smiled back, a tired smile, but a smile all the same. “You chose me to do this for a reason, and I think I finally understand why,” Clara said quietly, turning to sit down on the TARDIS steps. The Doctor moved to sit beside her.   
  
“Why?” he gently asked when Clara fell silent.   
  
“Because she’s  _ you, _ ” Clara whispered, turning to look up into his face, meeting his old, tired eyes, “she’s just like you.” The Doctor looked back, and shared between them was a promise, a promise that they wouldn’t give up on Missy.   
  
“Then...we’re all she’s got,” the Doctor agreed quietly, breaking eye contact to stare at his own hands. Clara smiled through her emotions. “You’re smiling when you’re sad again,” the Doctor said, though he didn’t have to look back at Clara to know he was right.   
  
“That’s when a smile matters most,” Clara replied, leaning her head on his shoulder. “If you can smile when you’re sad, you can face anything.”

“Oh, Clara, she doesn’t deserve you, and neither do I,” the Doctor murmured.   
  
“Then it’s a good job neither of you get a say in the matter,” Clara lightly teased, bumping her knees against his. The Doctor turned back to her, his eyes swimming, nodding.   
  
“Alright. I’ll give her some time and then I’ll speak to her,” he said. “Are you sure you’re up to carrying on with this?” 

Clara nodded. “Yeah,” she replied, closing her eyes, finally feeling the adrenaline start to ease away. The Doctor gave her one last look of guilt, before he headed for the console to take Clara home for some well deserved rest.

***** 

Whether it was night or day, whether the time had passed by quickly or slowly, Missy didn’t know. She didn’t know how long it had been since the Doctor had brought Clara to her. She didn’t know how long she had sat on the cold, hard floor, replaying that moment over and over again in her head. Or how long she lingered on the look on Clara’s face the moment she revealed why she’d agreed to come. 

Missy supposed it didn’t matter how much time had passed, only that it would continue to. She wasn’t even certain if the Doctor would visit again, or leave her to rot, alone for however many years imprisonment she still had left inside the vault.

_ She’d gone over it, again, and again, and again - why she’d lost control of her emotions from something as weak as empathy. Why the sound of Clara’s sincerity frightened her, why it made her angry, why it made her hearts ache.  _ _ Was this what it meant to feel remorse? Were these new, old emotions always so overwhelming before? Missy couldn’t remember - it was so long ago. She was only a child, only a young boy when she was free of the drums, free of their maddening mantra. So  _ **_that_ ** _ was why it felt so strange. She was that boy again, now. Free - free to choose a different cage. _

Missy jerked awake, her eyes blinking rapidly, shaking fingers rising to rub her face, to dispel the unwanted thoughts and memories. She’d moved to lie down to rest, the passage of time still eluding her, though she knew its beat was ever ticking, if she could hear it or not.

It came as a surprise to her then, when the vault doors began to open, stirring her further from her hazy state. Blinking slowly to allow her blurred vision to focus, Missy saw the Doctor walk inside the vault, alone.

She sat up carefully, her boots clicking as they met with the floor.

“I thought you might be ready to talk,” the Doctor offered when Missy looked over to him questioningly. She said nothing at first, trying to gather herself enough to remember how to.   
  
“Right,” she agreed with a nod. 

The Doctor acknowledged her, turning to make his way to the armchairs, pulling over the small, contained fireplace, switching it on. Missy rubbed her eyes again, inhaling a long breath before she stood up, walking across the vault towards the empty chair. She hesitated, her fingers brushing over worn leather, and for a second, she saw Clara Oswald’s empathy all over again.

“It’s been three months,” the Doctor explained, hoping to break Missy out of whatever mind fog she was stuck inside. It did the trick, catching Missy’s attention enough that she sat in the chair, her eyes leveling onto the Doctor’s.

“I don’t suppose you could bring me a clock next time,” Missy joked, but it was flat and passionless. The Doctor smiled and it was just as empty.   
  
“Are you still angry with me?” Missy found herself asking before she could ponder why. She hated how her insides churned waiting for the answer; couldn’t stand how much she craved his approval. But it didn’t matter if she liked it, it was how she felt, and she was stuck with it.

“No,” the Doctor said, and Missy visibly exhaled with relief. 

Quiet fell between the two, and Missy looked down into her lap for a while. The Doctor watched the fireplace, giving her some time - though she’d had enough of it alone, lately.

“Clara, is she…” Missy started to ask, but for a reason the Doctor couldn’t place, he saw the wordless question die on Missy’s lips, her face broken with desperation for an answer. He wondered then, how Missy really felt about her. And when he saw the guilt on her face that had matched his own three months ago, he understood even more how right Clara had been to not give up on her.   


“She’s fine,” he reassured, watching the tension in Missy’s posture seep away, her eyes fluttering shut as she leaned into the chair, giving a nod of acknowledgement. “Actually, it’s because of Clara that I’m here.” Missy’s eyes opened again, meeting his. 

The Doctor continued, “as you know, after what happened last time, I wanted to stop her visits. I thought I’d made a mistake, to put the two of you together.” Missy sensed he had more to say, so she kept quiet. “But Clara told me not to give up on you just yet,” he said, giving Missy a small smile. Her expression softened and she managed a weak smile in return. 

“It’s very human, I know, but you’ll get used to that,” he added, noticing Missy’s eyes were glossy again. “That is, if you still want-”    
  
“Yes,” Missy breathlessly said, cutting him off. The Doctor nodded in understanding. He remembered how it felt, when Clara brought hope back into his heart, and killed the loneliness with her warm company. He could tell she’d do the same for Missy, given time; always, time.

“Good,” the Doctor stood, moving towards the desk in the corner where he’d left the small book a while back. He opened it, flicking through the bare pages. “You still haven’t started it then,” he asked Missy, casting a glance over his shoulder.   
  
“You didn’t leave me any ink,” she pointed out. The Doctor stared at her for a moment before he exhaled an amused breath down his nose. 

“No, I don’t suppose I did,” he apologised, closing the journal, tying it together and leaving it on the desk. “I was thinking of getting one for Clara too,” the Doctor mentioned. “What do you think?”   
  
“Synchronized journaling?” she asked, crossing her legs in the chair.   
  
“It works, if you put in the effort,” the Doctor defended, reminded of a time not so long ago when he once kept a blue journal of his own.    
  
“Do you think Clara would even want to?” Missy sounded curious. The Doctor smiled.   
  
“Why don’t you ask her yourself?” he suggested. Missy hesitated before nodding. 

The Doctor crossed the room towards where she was sitting, retrieving another journal from his pocket. It was purple and leather-bound, the pages thick and worn but empty, waiting to be written in, to be confided in. The Gallifreyan word for ‘promise’ was carved into the front - just like the one he’d given to Missy. He held it out to her, his expression encouraging. Missy reached to take the journal from him, glancing down, running her fingers over the engraved markings of their language.

“Thank you,” Missy said quietly, and although she didn’t elaborate, the Doctor knew she was grateful for more than just the journal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get a tense scene out of the way early, to show how both Clara and Missy are hesitant about this arrangement, and will have a lot of learning to do along the way. Future chapters will focus primarily on Missy and Clara's relationship, but the Doctor is important to the story as well, which is why he's still in it a bit at the moment. I promise there will be plenty of Misffle moments, but this is my first proper slowburn story, so I’m trying not to rush!


End file.
